Chapter 37: Hell’s Highway
The moment Quinn stepped into the open, the world seemed to slow down. The nearest infected, a dozen of them milling between the cars, turned their heads, their vacant eyes locking onto him. A low, hungry moan rippled through the group. They began to shuffle towards him.
"Now, Hex," Quinn said into his walkie-talkie, his voice calm and steady.
A fraction of a second later, a deafening car horn blared to life from across the highway, a sustained, piercing shriek that cut through the moans of the dead. It was followed by another, then another, as Hex’s rigged noisemaker kicked in.
The effect was dramatic. The infected shuffling towards Quinn stopped dead. Their heads swiveled in unison towards the source of the louder, more persistent sound. Their simple, singular minds had a new target. They turned and began to move away from Quinn, a small but significant portion of the horde drawn to Hex’s diversion.
It was the opening Quinn needed. He ran, his feet pounding on the cracked asphalt, weaving between the derelict cars. He reached the massive fuel tanker, its silver skin dull in the fading light. He did not hesitate. He pressed the steel bit of the heavy-duty drill against the lowest point of the tank and pulled the trigger.
The drill whined, a high-pitched, metallic scream that was a dangerous sound in this quiet, deadly place. A few nearby infected, their attention not fully captured by the horns, turned back towards him. Quinn ignored them, putting all his weight into the drill. The bit chewed through the aluminum skin. A dark, viscous fluid began to seep out around the drill bit—gasoline.
He pushed harder. The bit broke through. A torrent of fuel gushed from the hole, splashing onto the ground. The powerful, acrid smell filled the air.
"Phase one complete," he grunted into the walkie-talkie. "Get ready."
He pulled the drill free and sprinted away from the tanker, not looking back. The fuel was now pouring out in a steady stream, forming a dark, growing pool on the pavement before beginning to snake its way down the slight incline of the highway, a black river of potential fire.